


Young Men at the End of Everything

by partialresonance



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Attempt at Worldbuilding, Exile isn't too bad, Exiled Kylux, Force-null Kylo, Hurt/Comfort, Hux catches a cold and Kylo takes loving care of him for 10k, Hux's canon prickliness, It helps if you like potatoes, Kylo "my emotions" Ren, M/M, Original planet, Sick Armitage Hux, Sort Of, sorry there's no smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26398990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partialresonance/pseuds/partialresonance
Summary: Kylo thinks he can get used to life in exile, so long as Hux is there to live it with him. But a random stroke of fate suddenly throws Hux's life into jeopardy, and Kylo has to turn to an unlikely source for help.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 17
Kudos: 76
Collections: Kylux Is Dead: Long Live Kylux





	Young Men at the End of Everything

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the "near-death experience" prompt of the Long Live Kylux event. I don't think I quite hit the mark with the trope--the fic kind of got away from me, and turned into something different than where I'd started, but I hope you'll all accept this humble offering anyway. <3
> 
> Warning specific to our times: Hux has a high fever and significant respiratory distress. He recovers completely. I understand if this treads too close to real life for some readers, so please take care. <3

At first, it’s Hux that flourishes in exile.

It’s Hux who finds the planet—Noureen, an out-of-the-way ball of dirt populated by farmers who have seen galactic empires rise and fall with no more consequence than a change in what their tax collectors like to be called. It’s Hux who purchases their little plot of land, with its house on the windy hill and its rows upon rows of hard little tubers that grow in the chilly dry season and its single fenced-in pasture of woolly animals that keep them sustained through the long, cold wet season. It’s Hux who fixes up the wind turbine, the most modern piece of equipment they possess, that keeps their little generator humming along during the frequent power outages that plague the rural areas.

And it’s Hux who pulls Kylo out of bed, when he stays wrapped up in their moth-eaten comforters long past noon.

Kylo feels like a ghost, like the tea cup Hux presses into his hands should fall right through his insubstantial flesh. He cups it close to his chest and lets the steam curl under his chin, and his gaze turns far away, his mind wandering across parsecs to the places where everything ended. There were so many endings, he doesn’t even know which one to mourn. So he doesn’t. He lets his mind go blank, and before he knows it Hux is hovering over him again, sighing, exasperated, taking the cup full of cold tea from his hands and stalking off to the kitchen, slamming the bedroom door as he goes.

For all Hux is good at fixing the broken things around the farm, Kylo thinks for many weeks that he is too far gone to bother with. And Hux has never been particularly good at giving comfort, having received so little of it himself all these years.

But slowly, things get better. Kylo gets out of bed without as much prompting. He stares out the window, looking over the dull grey-green grasses that wave like long fingers in the ever-present wind. His mind still cycles through it all—all the many wrong turns he has taken that felt like the only option until he was far enough ahead of them to look back and see, of course, there had always been another way. But when Hux comes up behind him, fresh from his trip to the market and grumbling about his latest interaction with the dull-minded people in town, Kylo turns and draws him suddenly, dramatically to his chest.

Hux goes stiff in his arms at first. Kylo always feels a little spark of fear in Hux when he, Kylo, moves swiftly like this, and he should feel more guilty about it than he does. But it’s hard to feel guilty when Hux always melts into him just a few seconds later, the alarm giving way to a relief so poignant that it washes over Kylo like a balm. He holds Hux close to his chest, arms crushing the thin man to him, heart aching at how small Hux feels, how much Kylo _needs_ this. Needs to feel big, like he can shelter Hux from everything; needs to feel the way Hux makes the conscious decision to trust him, despite everything that says he shouldn’t.

Hux lifts his arms after a moment and returns the embrace.

Kylo dips his head and buries his nose in Hux’s hair. Hux’s days of slicking it back with gel are far behind him; it’s soft against Kylo’s skin, and smells like grass and wind and smoke. And Hux.

“Kylo,” Hux says, brittle and embarrassed. He pats Kylo’s back awkwardly with one hand and Kylo feels a hysterical laugh bubbling up in him. He clings to Hux as it rolls through him, deep chuckles that jerk his shoulders and make Hux gasp as the force of them slams into him, too. They share a bed, they share this awful, too-good life sentence, they share victories and defeats no other in the galaxy could begin to understand—but of course, Hux draws the line at a hug. _That’s_ too intimate, somehow, this simple expression of Kylo’s profound gratitude for his presence. It’s sad, and that’s why the laughter is so hard to stop.

“I suppose you’re feeling better,” he says stiffly, when Kylo has finally gotten some control over himself. He nuzzles in to Hux’s hair again, sliding a hand up the back of his neck to cup his head, feeling the shiver that goes through Hux at his touch. He works his fingers into the soft red hair, scratching short fingernails against his scalp, and Hux lets out a little groan and goes lax in his arms. Hux’s face is buried against his chest, hands falling to hook in Kylo’s belt. It sends a spark of heat through him, but Kylo is not ready to stop enjoying this. Eventually, he will pick Hux up as easily as if he were a child, carry him to their bedroom and toss him down on the bed like a sack of grain. But for now he breathes in Hux, pressing his fingers in firm, soothing strokes in all the places where Hux has always wished someone would touch him like this. Like they care.

At first, Hux does well in exile. Looking back, Kylo can’t even see the point when it all began to change.

Maybe it’s when Hux finally gets the wind turbine running. Or when he fixes their hot water system until the water sings along merrily in the centuries-old pipes, filling their clawfoot bathtub with steaming water so quickly, efficiently, that it almost seems like a magic spell, like something that shouldn’t be allowed because it’s too good and neither of them deserves it.

Or maybe it’s when their first crop comes in—Kylo spots Hux at one point, standing over the sink with the dirt-covered tubers in his hand, paused in scrubbing their rough skin to look down at them with an unreadable expression. The water turns hotter and hotter, and Kylo sprints across the room to slam the faucet off when he sees it steaming, sees how red Hux’s hands have become.

A year ago Kylo could have shut the water off from across the room, but ever since Exegol his powers have mostly fled him. He misses them sometimes, but not as much as he would have expected. At least he can still feel Hux—his emotions, sometimes his thoughts, though he is curiously blank at the moment.

“Silly me,” is all Hux says, when Kylo takes his hands gently in his own and frowns down at the raw, red skin. And maybe Kylo should have recognized that far-off gaze, but he doesn’t, or doesn’t want to. Hux has been so steady all of these years that Kylo can’t even imagine a case in which he doesn’t have complete control of himself. Hux is not like him, emotional and frivolous and hanging on by a thread. He’s fine—he has to be.

But as the projects run out and the monotony of their life sets in, Hux begins to falter. Kylo is first aware that something is truly wrong when he sees Hux out in one of the planet’s torrential downpours, kneeling in the mud.

Kylo stands in the doorway for a long moment, dumbfounded. The rain is deafening, and Hux is just a thin slit of color in a desaturated field. His red hair is plastered against his skull, his clothes dark and heavy and dripping, his knees sinking in to the mud, his arms hanging limp, hands gathered uselessly in his lap, looking down. Kylo’s mind cycles through a loop of possible explanations for this behavior. There must be an explanation, after all. Hux is not purposeless. He’s doing something, there is a good reason for this, he’s—

Kylo jolts from his place when finally, he understands that there can be no possible reason to sit in the cold rain like this. The wind is picking up, clouds hanging heavy above them like the belly of a dreadnought. The rain slams into him when he leaves the protection of the house’s slanted eaves, a shiver working its way up his spine in the short time it takes for him to cross the field and reach Hux.

When he puts his hands on Hux’s shoulders Hux startles. He blinks up at Kylo, the rain striking his pale face and running in torrents from his hair down his brow, nose, cheeks, lips, chin. Kylo opens his mouth to speak and the shelf of his lower lip fills instantly with water. He has to raise his voice to be heard over the rain.

“What are you doing?” The question feels stupid, and makes Kylo angry at himself and at Hux. It’s clear what he’s doing—he’s sitting in the fucking rain. Hux just stares up at him for a moment, like he’s as baffled at this question as Kylo.

“It’s ruined.” Hux’s gaze falls back to the ground, head twisting to look at the field when Kylo doesn’t let go of his shoulders, keeping Hux angled towards him. “The rains came too early. They’re not ready, and they’re going to rot.”

Kylo realizes he’s talking about their last crop, and yes, that is slightly unfortunate, but he shakes his head, not understanding why this matters so much to Hux.

“It’s fine,” he says, giving Hux a little shake when the other man doesn’t look at him or appear to have heard him at all. “We have enough already, we’ll be okay. Come inside.”

“It’s not fine.” Hux doesn’t say any more. He doesn’t fight it when Kylo draws him up to his feet, but something about him feels boneless, and Kylo doesn’t dare let go of him as he pulls him back towards the house.

Kylo closes the door behind them, shutting out the rain. He wipes a hand over his face, pushing his hair back and kicking off his muddy boots. Hux is standing mutely beside him. His arms are crossed loosely over his chest and he’s shivering.

A spark of fear runs through Kylo. He can’t even tell what it is he’s afraid of; maybe that Hux isn’t really here, that the rain had washed him away, that Kylo was too late.

“Hux?” He touches Hux’s elbow. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Hux grips his arms tightly now, annoyed at the increasingly uncontrollable shivers wracking him. The house is drafty, despite Hux’s best efforts to seal the gaps in the mortar, the old stone walls radiating a chill that feels personal at times, like the house has still not fully accepted their presence here and is hoping to drive them away.

Kylo frowns, annoyance flashing through him.

“I’ll draw a bath,” he grumbles, leaving Hux to shiver in the doorway. “You’re freezing.”

He stomps across the house and turns on the water, putting his hand under the faucet to test the temperature as the bath fills. The water feels good on his hand, warming up the chill that has set in from even his brief time outside, and as he stares at the torrent tumbling from the wide mouth of the faucet he thinks that if Hux hasn’t moved by the time Kylo returns he might slap him.

When he goes back out into the main room he’s frustrated to see that Hux has and hasn’t moved. He’s still standing in the doorway, but at least he’s taken off his boots and socks and peeled off his sweater. Kylo loves that sweater. It’s a lumpy, clumsy-knit thing that makes Hux look unbearably soft. He has to push up the sleeves or they hang down almost to the tips of his fingers. Now, it’s in a sodden heap on the floor, and Hux’s hands have stalled at his belt buckle, and he looks inexplicably to Kylo as if asking what he should do next.

Kylo ushers him in to the bathroom, the two of them leaving a trail of wet footprints on the warped wooden floors.

Kylo tugs Hux’s shirt up over his head. Hux’s skin is clammy against Kylo’s palms and that unnamable fear grips him again; he hurries to unbuckle Hux’s trousers, peeling them off, helping him step out of them and his underwear—for once, without even a thought to what he’d like to do to Hux now that he has him naked. He’s too concerned by the blue tint to Hux’s lips and fingernails. When he helps Hux into the bath, Hux startles at the heat of the water and bites off a cry of pain.

“How long were you out there?” Kylo’s voice is unrecognizable to himself, pitched high with worry.

“I don’t know,” Hux mumbles. He winces as he slides down into the bath, pale knees poking out from the water, his shivers ending out ripples that threaten to slosh water over the smooth lip of the tub. Kylo kneels beside the tub, resting his arms on the edge and letting the tips of his fingers dangle in the water as he looks at Hux. He’s frustrated, confused, worried—and then, guilty, as he wonders if this is how Hux felt when Kylo used to stare vacantly at the wall and give non-answers as his mind spun out to places Hux couldn’t follow.

He supposes this is fair, then. Expected, even, because Hux has always had a broad vindictive streak, so of course he would do something like this to get back at Kylo. And that means that the way to win this is to keep it from bothering him, turn it into something he’d enjoy instead. Kylo reaches for the soap.

He finds Hux’s nearest hand in the water and brings to towards him, stretching out his arm and drawing the lathered brush up the pale limb, leaving a soapy trail in its wake. He’s always loved Hux’s arms, their slender strength, the delicate bones of his hands and wrists. He takes time to work the soap between each of his fingers, bending his hand back and massaging the palm with deep strokes of his thumbs. Hux is watching him, calculating and curious, and Kylo smirks inside at having drawn him out of his far-away look so easily.

He moves on to Hux’s shoulders, scrubbing away the rain and flecks of mud, enjoying the shiver that works through the other man when he drops the brush to massage here, too. Hux’s head falls forward and his lips part. He’s breathing heavily, an attractive flush creeping across his high cheekbones. His skin is pink, smooth, beaded with water, and Kylo can’t resist the temptation to lean forward and drop a kiss to the vertebrae at the top of his spine. Hux sucks in a sharp breath.

Kylo cups his palms around the steaming water and drops it on the crown of Hux’s head, three times to let the warm water soak in to the cold locks of his wet hair. He takes his time working the soap through until it’s a smooth, thick lather, and Hux groans with every pass of his hands. His head is heavy in Kylo’s hands, entire body lax and pliant, knees falling open as he leans back.

Kylo remembers when he discovered this particular quirk of Hux’s, that anything to do with his hair is a straight shot to getting him relaxed, so blissed-out he’s almost submissive. He’d thought it was so strange at first, but now it’s one of his favorite things, knowing that a light brush of his fingers at the nape of his neck or dragging the teeth of a comb along his scalp is enough to send shivers of pleasure down Hux’s spine, enough to make him tip his head back, bare the pale column of his throat, open his mouth in those heavy breaths that wreck Kylo.

Enough, perhaps, to get him to talk.

Kylo bends down until his lips are nearly brushing Hux’s ear.

“This isn’t about the potatoes, is it?”

Hux’s eyes are closed. He huffs out a laugh.

“No. I suppose it isn’t.”

“Then what?” Kylo presses lightly on Hux’s shoulder, and Hux scoots down until his hair is submerged. The red tendrils wave like rust-colored seaweed, and Hux looks up at Kylo with those eyes perfectly poised between grey and green. Kylo blinks. “You can, uh…talk to me. You know.”

Hux shrugs, and closes his eyes again.

Kylo moves to the other end of the tub and lifts one of Hux’s feet out of the water. Hux is ticklish along the arches of his feet, in a way that Kylo knows he finds unpleasant. So he only gives them a good once-over to remove the dirt before moving on, drawing the brush up his long, slender legs, then massaging his calves, using two fingers to stroke hard behind the knee. Hux sighs.

“It’s all gone,” he mutters, barely moving his lips.

“I know.” Kylo doesn’t stop the massage. He rolls Hux’s foot, working out the ankle.

“And now there’s only this,” Hux waves a hand, water splashing softly. “Forever.”

“Believe it or not, this isn’t the worst possible outcome.” Kylo had seen many endings, and the worst involved both their deaths—Hux at the end of a blaster rifle on the bridge, Kylo on the rocky face of a dark planet. But Hux doesn’t know this; he lifts his head to blink at Kylo, suddenly very serious.

“I know.” Hux’s throat works. “Thank you. For this.” He tilts his head back quickly, ashamed at their positions, at having Kylo do something so frivolous and demeaning as massage him in a steaming bath, embarrassed at having to express gratitude for it but too desperate for the comfort it gives to put a stop to it all. Kylo squeezes his ankle.

“You don’t have to thank me for this. I like doing it. You like how my hands feel on you; that’s…” Kylo has to look away and clear his throat. “No one has ever—“

“I know,” Hux says quickly, trying to head off whatever emotion he can hear building in Kylo’s voice. Kylo nods and goes back to washing Hux, and they don’t speak any more, just listen.

When Hux finally emerges from the tub, taking the towel from Kylo and then pushing him away, sweeping past him and into the kitchen on a quest for tea—Kylo thinks the danger has passed.

It isn’t until late that night that Kylo realizes the flush from the bath has never left Hux’s cheeks, that he’s coughed one too many times in a row, clearing his throat as he makes himself yet another cup of tea.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks, when Hux flips back the covers and crawls into bed beside him. The best part of their entire house, in Kylo’s mind, is the massive bed with its wooden headboard, piled high with blankets that may be too rough, a bit ragged, but still warm. He loves the way Hux huffs and turns away from him only so Kylo can reach over, grab his slender waist, and pull him flush against his chest.

“I’m fine.” Hux clears his throat and suppresses a cough behind one hand, wriggling in Kylo’s grip. Kylo presses his lips to the skin beneath Hux’s ear in something that is not quite a kiss. He frowns.

“You feel hot.”

“Of course.” Hux tries to sigh, but it turns into a cough, and the wet sound of it sends a bolt of fear through Kylo’s stomach. “I _would_ be punished for the single emotional breakdown I’ve let myself have in thirty years, when you have yours regularly, with impunity.”

“Sounds about right.” Kylo pushes Hux’s hair back from his forehead as an excuse to feel his temperature there. It jogs a brief memory—Leia laying the back of her hand on Ben’s small forehead—and Kylo shuts his eyes against it, swallowing hard. “If you’re not feeling better in the morning, I’ll go into town. There’s that one woman…”

“Not this about the witch, again.” Kylo can almost feel Hux rolling his eyes.

“She has the Force. I can feel it.” The old woman has a stand in the market, hawking herbal remedies, but Kylo suspects she does much more than that for the people of the surrounding villages. “Anyway, that’s not why…I’m sure she has something that can help with the fever.”

“And _I’m_ sure I’ll be fine in the morning, if you’d just let me get a proper night’s sleep for once.”

Kylo grins, despite his deep unease.

“You’re right.” He drops a single, chaste kiss on Hux’s shoulder, then settles down with his face pressed to the back of Hux’s neck. “Go to sleep. Good night, Hux.”

The next morning, Kylo wakes to Hux sweating beside him. His face is bright and flushed, eyes a bit glassy, and that wet cough is back, rumbling in his chest. Kylo leaps out of bed and rushes to the kitchen, putting on tea and pacing back and forth in the small space as the kettle heats up.

When he comes back into the bedroom Hux is sitting up in bed. He had been hunched over his knees, but on seeing Kylo he straightens, drawing himself up in that old military posture that makes Kylo think there could almost be a Star Destroyer hanging in orbit above them, waiting to welcome them home.

For all that he’s accused Kylo of pageantry and obsessing over aesthetics, Hux is the one who really needs this. Kylo isn’t interested in keeping up appearances, isn’t interested in this facade—pretending that they don’t care about each other, that they don’t have human weaknesses. There’s no one to pretend for anymore. No underlings, no Snoke, no Resistance or Republic or family ghosts haunting their footsteps. He presses the tea cup urgently into Hux’s hands, knowing that the concern is open on his face. Hux accepts the cup but rolls his eyes and scoffs.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Ren.” He sips at the tea, eyelids fluttering half-shut as the hot liquid, smoothed with honey, hits his sore throat. “I’ve been sick before. I’ll be fine in a couple of days.”

And Kylo wants to point out that Hux has always been within fainting distance of a medbay, before. That they have no resources here to help them if it’s something serious. He wants to ask what if it’s pneumonia, and why haven’t they planned for something like this, why didn’t Hux think of this? Kylo is no good at planning ahead, never has been. It’s always been Hux’s job.

But instead of any of that Kylo simply nods and shrugs.

“Well, we need some things from the market anyway.” They don’t, really, but Kylo knows Hux will fuss at him if he makes a special trip. Hux nods tiredly. “You should get a bit more sleep. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

The people of Noureen only use credits for large purchases at the space ports and the one sprawling industrial center half a continent away. Out here in the countryside, at the little markets, the barter system serves them just as well as it has since before the rise of the Old Republic. So it is that Kylo tucks Hux in to their bed and packs a rucksack with cloth-wrapped wheels of the pungent cheese derived from their animal stock.

He thinks of the resources they used to wield: entire planets’ worth of industrial output and natural resources, the loyalty of billions who would give the rulers of the First Order whatever they wished if they only asked for it. There is no one out here like that. Here, everything is painstaking—worked from the soil, hoarded in cellars, laboriously processed from raw material into something of value.

He shakes his head, shedding himself of ghosts.

He goes out to the shed that leans against the side of their ancient house, and the rusted door squeals as he pushes it open. Inside are all the tools Hux has used to make their lives bearable out here at the end of everything, and an old speeder covered in a dusty tarp. They don’t always take it to the market—there’s a good chance of it being stolen and the walk is only an hour or so, but Kylo can’t bear to leave Hux alone for that long now. He whips off the tarp, kickstarts the speeder, and zooms out into the misty rain.

The market is muted by the rain. On a sunny day it bustles with activity, the brown-clothed residents filling the narrow aisles between crowded market stalls, children bounding back and forth beneath the low-slung tarps. Today it’s quiet, though not deserted. Kylo had stashed the speeder by a copse of trees about a half-mile out, and now he lifts his hood up as he maneuvers the tight spaces, feeling too big and exposed as always. Although there’s no one here to recognize him, even if he’d come decked out in his old regalia, mask and all.

Along with the scent of rain and damp earth, a heavy, smoky fragrance hangs in the air. In the stalls a few rows over, a wide variety of meats are smoked over low fires charred on the ends and served from great hanks set upright on a spindle, turned by a hand crank often manned by the children of the shop owners. Kylo’s stomach rumbles at the smell. When he comes here with Hux, it takes everything in Hux’s power to keep Kylo from wandering off to the food stalls—but today, Kylo is focused on the mission.

The stall he’s looking for is in a conspicuous area. It’s the size of two or three normal stalls, its importance to the community evident in this sprawling display. Thick bundles of dried herbs hang in row upon row from wooden beams overhead; stands are piled high with those things the people of Noureen have deemed to have medicinal importance. Dried fruit and vegetables, jars of pickled animal parts, colored powders filling wooden bowls. Towards the back is a pen of live pigmy boars whose intestines are supposed to tell the future, when their bellies are split open.

In the center of it all is an unassuming woman perched on a stool.

She’s old, thin, seeming too frail to hold up her massive mane of tangled, curly grey hair. Dried vines and sticks and cloth ribbons are weaved through it, as if they’d been braided in a century ago and left to grow along with the rest, until they appear as much a part of her as the hair itself. Her dress is a faded mauve, ragged at the ends, a beaded shawl hanging over her narrow shoulders. When Kylo stops before her she cocks her head, lifts a grey eyebrow, her watery blue eyes fixing on his. She speaks, and her voice is old-old: creaking boards and dusty stairs and wind rattling the branches of leafless trees.

“What can Madame Selly do for you, young man?”

“My friend is sick.” Kylo likes the way the people of Noureen get right to the point. They claim to have no time for pleasantries and idle talk, which suits him. “Fever. Wet cough. He was out in the storm, yesterday.”

Madame Selly clucks her tongue.

“You young men think you’re all invincible, eh?” She levers herself up off the stool, arms shaking slightly with the laborious task—but Kylo gets the odd feeling that it’s a show. The Force—what little sense of it he still has—tells him that she’s stronger than she looks. In any case, he does not move to help her, simply watches in silence as she leans on a gnarled cane and makes her way to a nearby stand, digging through her wares.

”My husband was the same way, you know. Always showing off. Hunting, fighting. Always coming back to Selly to patch him up. I tell him he’ll get himself killed, he doesn’t listen! Until he comes back to Selly one day and I have to say, look at you! I can’t fix this! He died after being stuck in the belly with the tusk of a wild laffapig. Fifty years and he does not listen. Now it is just Selly.” She clucks her tongue.

Kylo doesn’t know what to say to this. He watches her pulling ingredients and lets his mind wander back to Hux, until Selly turns and fixes him with a bolt-like stare.

“You’re not from here, are you young man?”

“I—“

Kylo freezes. Swallows. Blinks.

“Ah, Madame Selly knows.” She waves a crooked finger at him, then turns around again with a tinkling laugh that sounds suddenly young. “Noureen is a good place, with good people. A good place for a fresh start. But you must take care of each other, yes? Tell your young man no more farming in the rain! Ha!” She cackles.

“He’s not my—“ Kylo scratches the back of his head, thinning his lips. It doesn’t matter.

Madame Selly moves about, plucking ingredients from here and there, giving Kylo terse instructions as she goes. An herbal tea is supposed to reduce Hux’s fever; a harrowleaf compound applied as a salve to his chest and throat will relieve aches and ease his breathing; a fine, orange powder added to soups and teas will help pain and fatigue. Along with these, Madame Selly gives instructions for breathing exercises, diet, compresses and steam to bring further comfort to his ‘friend’—said with a wink and the same tone she used to talk of her husband—and by the end of it all, Kylo is absurdly grateful, to the point that he has to dig his fingernails into his palm to stop the flood of emotion that comes out of nowhere.

He tells himself this is just her job; that he should expect this, that he’s paying for this, that it isn’t anything especially generous on her part. But he can’t really believe it. His read on her is genuine concern, joy in taking care of these strangers—weaving together new threads, strengthening the fabric of her community, fondness for all forms of life, a particular soft spot for reckless young men. It’s hard not to fall to his knees in gratitude that there is someone other than himself who could possibly care whether Hux lives or dies.

“Take this.” She presses the bundle into Kylo’s hands. “And if your young man isn’t better by tomorrow morning, you come back to Madame Selly. Some things need a woman’s touch.” She winks.

The first thing Kylo hears when he enters the house is Hux coughing. Kylo pauses in the entryway, listening. It’s a deep sound, like an engine turning over, stalling out. He goes in to the living room and sees Hux curled up in a chair by the window, a blanket from their bed pulled around his shoulders, bare feet poking out. He has a cup of tea cradled in his hands.

“You sound awful,” Kylo says. He thinks Hux flips him off when his back is turned, as he heads into the kitchen to start brewing the harrowleaf compound.

Before long, staggering footsteps come up behind him as Hux joins him in the kitchen.

“What did you get?” His voice is hoarse as he wrinkles his nose and peers suspiciously over Kylo’s shoulder at the bundle of leaves brewing in the pot. They’re already giving off a sharp medicinal smell that makes Kylo’s nose twitch, but Hux leans closer and breathes in the steam. He closes his eyes and rests his chin on Kylo’s shoulder, and Kylo freezes in place, content to stay like this for the rest of his life, for as long as Hux will let him hold him up.

“A lot of stuff.” Kylo reaches over to stir the pot, moving his shoulder as little as possible. “Some of it may be ritual—superstition—but I can’t tell the difference. Madame Selly thinks it’s all equally effective, so you’re getting all of it, ritual or not.”

“Madame Selly? So you’ve made friends with her, then. Figures you two would get along.”

“She’s talkative.” Kylo turns and puts an arm around Hux, holding him close to his chest. Hux squirms a bit, adjusting Kylo’s hold before finally resting his head against him, letting his eyes fall shut again. He’s shivering and hot, his exhaustion palpable to Kylo, who squeezes his arm in a flash of protective instinct. “I think we can trust her.”

“Hmm.”

Kylo buries his nose in Hux’s hair and breathes in deeply. When Kylo tries to kiss him, half the time Hux pushes him away, but he never denies Kylo this. As if he can tell how much Kylo needs it: his scent, his warmth. Grounding him. It’s in small moments like these that Kylo thinks Hux knows the terrible truth—that Kylo doesn’t really mind this life, so long as he can live it with Hux.

Kylo can tell that Hux feels truly awful, because he lets Kylo fuss over him the rest of the day.

When Hux starts swaying in the kitchen, Kylo ushers him back to the chair in the living room, wrapping him up in that blanket and propping his feet up on a stool, slipping socks onto his bare feet and covering them in a blanket, too. He finishes brewing the harrowleaf, and brings the pot to Hux’s side, letting the soothing steam wash over him. He makes the fever tea with the orange powder, urges Hux to drink it despite Hux reporting its awful taste.

“That’s how you know it’s good for you,” Kylo says. Hux rolls his eyes and mutters something about nonsense Republic sayings. But he follows all of Kylo’s instructions and takes everything he’s given with minimal complaint.

Still, by the end of the day he’s listless, with no discernible improvement in his condition. Kylo has tired himself out with worrying, and sits beside Hux’s chair. He lays his head in Hux’s lap and Hux’s hand comes to rest on top of his head, and the two of them fall asleep like that for an hour or so. Until Kylo wakes up, sees Hux asleep in the chair, and carries him to their bed.

The next day Kylo wakes to the feeling of suffocation. Not his own.

He sits up with a gasp, turning wordlessly to Hux, who feels like he can’t breathe. Hux is on his side, his hands curled into pale fists clutching the bedding and the front of his shirt, struggling through a coughing fit. Kylo lays a hand on his shoulder as Hux finally sucks in a wheezing breath, only for it to ignite another series of rolling coughs that tear through him mercilessly. He’s lightheaded and barely clinging to consciousness by the time it’s through.

“Hux.” Kylo licks his lips. “Shit.”

A fear he hasn’t felt since seeing Luke on that cursed planet sends icy fingers into his gut. Hux is too exhausted to be afraid. He breathes thinly, eyes half-shut, hands limp on the bed.

Kylo gets up, afraid to move too quickly in case it somehow sets Hux off again. He brews more of the tea, clenching his hands into angry fists when he realizes they’re shaking. He starts pacing, starts formulating his plan for the day—he’ll take care of Hux, give him the tea and the salve, and then Kylo will get ready to go back to the market, to see what else that old woman can do for them—when another pass by the window jolts him into reality.

A storm has rolled in overnight.

Kylo hadn’t registered the rumbling of thunder overhead, the whistle of wind through the cracks in the mortar. Outside, the animals have retreated into their shelter; wind whips the sheets of rain into a torrent, and lightning flashes in the distance, accompanied by a crack of thunder so loud it rattles the windowpanes. 

Even if Kylo could make it into town on foot or speeder bike, the market won’t be open.

Anger rears up inside of him, flooding his cells with crackling energy like he’d been struck by one of those bolts tearing down from the distant sky. He spins on one heel and drives his fist into the stone wall, over and over again, with a helpless fury he hasn’t felt since he shattered his helmet in the elevator of the _Supremacy._ An inarticulate cry squeezes past his clenched teeth and curled lips. His knuckles split, blood streaks the wall, and something in his hand snaps.

Kylo leans into the pain, breathing hard, dropping his head so that his hair falls to shield his face. He doesn’t know how long he stays like that. Eventually, a thin cry from the bedroom draws his attention. Kylo jerks his head up, and dashes back to Hux’s side.

Hux has pushed himself into a shaky sitting position against the headboard.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is threadbare, shaky. “I heard shouting. Your hand—“

He doubles over, hit by a series of harsh coughs.

“I’m sorry.” For some reason, it’s the first thing out of Kylo’s mouth. “I’m sorry. Hux?” He sits on the bed and puts his hands on Hux’s knees, grimacing at the smear of blood on his knuckles. He’s so fucking stupid. He wishes he could think rationally, like Hux. But he lets himself feel helpless and angry and then he does something like this and it doesn’t help anyone, least of all Hux, who is bent over wheezing for breath, his sweat-drenched hair falling lank across his pale face.

Kylo worries his lower lip between his teeth, and moves to help Hux sit back against the headboard. He can feel the heat of Hux’s fever through his shirt.

“Everything’s okay,” he says, the lie bitter on his tongue. “I—I got mad. It was stupid.”

Hux nods, seems afraid to speak in case it leads to another coughing fit. Exhaustion bleeds off of him like ink eating up paper, sapping something from Kylo, too. Hux lifts a shaking hand, runs it over his face, and then gropes for Kylo’s hand. Kylo offers his uninjured one, and Hux squeezes it tight.

“Sit with me,” he says—a quick, breathless command.

The bed dips under him as Kylo crawls up to sit beside Hux, leaning back against the creaking headboard and threading an arm around the other man’s shoulders. Hux collapses against his side. His chest rises and falls irregularly; his breathing sounds painful, difficult. His hot forehead is pressed against the side of Kylo’s neck; Kylo rubs his thumb back and forth on Hux’s shoulder. After a moment, Hux takes as deep a breath as he can.

“I hated you, after Crait.”

Kylo lifts his eyebrows. His hand goes still for just a beat; then, he resumes the slow strokes of his thumb. He shrugs.

“I hated me too.”

Hux’s laugh is a brief, voiceless thing.

“I know.” His throat works as he suppresses a cough. Kylo finds one of his hands and pulls it into his lap, stroking the knuckles. His voice is tight, clipped, getting out as much as he can without aggravating the ever-present itch. “That’s why you’re here.”

That’s why Hux allows him to be here, he means.

“Glad to be,” Kylo murmurs.

“I can’t—” Hux’s eyes fall shut. Breathe in, breathe out, as laborious as turning a crank with rusted gears. His hand twitches in an aborted gesture. “Always. You know.” His other hand grips the front of Kylo’s shirt, and he turns his face even further in to Kylo, nose pressing insistently against Kylo’s pulse. “But this.”

_This._

Hux is turned far enough towards him that Kylo can easily stroke his back, and he does so for several long moments, listening to the painful whistle of Hux’s breath, waiting for him to clarify what he’d meant.

_I can’t._

_But this._

“You need to eat something,” Kylo says at last. “Hux?”

Hux says nothing. He’s drifted into a thin sleep in Kylo’s arms.

Something tugs painfully in Kylo’s chest.

He gets up, regretful when Hux blinks bleary grey eyes at him and slides down to the pillows. He goes to the kitchen and puts a pot of broth to boil on their old stove. Then, looking at the kettle, the bowl of soup, the little pot of harrowleaf salve, he opens the cabinet over the sink and pulls out a wooden tray. It’s slightly warped with age, the wood stained with years of tea rings from the house’s last owner. Kylo piles everything Hux needs on the tray and, feeling vaguely ridiculous but also more useful than perhaps at any other point in his life, goes back into the bedroom.

Hands occupied by the laden tray, Kylo nudges the door open with his hip. He looks up at Hux, sees his eyes go wide—and Hux bursts into hoarse laughter.

Kylo blinks, then cracks a wavering grin. Hux’s laughter is often mean, and Kylo—oversensitive, embarrassed—used to hate it, used to storm from the room whenever Hux laughed at him like this. But now he just shrugs and says,

“Room service.”

And Hux nods, face red as his laughter turns to coughs, and he presses a hand to his chest as if that could suppress them.

The rest of the day is this: Kylo at Hux’s bedside, laying warm compresses on his forehead to leech away the heat of fever, plying him with soup and tea, rubbing the harrowleaf compound on his chest and throat. Hux waxes between indignation at the treatment—“I’m not an invalid, Ky-lo,” he says, despite all the evidence to the contrary—and a weary listlessness that lapses into restless sleep.

Kylo’s worry abates during the long hours of the day, until late that night. Hux’s fever spikes and he begins mumbling things that don’t make sense, stops responding to Kylo’s words and touch. His breath stutters, irregular and labored, choking on those wet coughs. Kylo is afraid to sleep. He lays beside Hux through the little hours of the night and on into morning, eyes dry from keeping watch on the uneven rise and fall of his narrow chest, thinking over and over again: no, no, this can’t be another ending.

The next day dawns clear, grey, and grim.

Kylo tries to wake Hux. He shakes his shoulder, pats his clammy cheek, but Hux only makes a faint huffing sound, eyes glued shut with tacky sweat.

Kylo leaves him to prepare to head to the market. His hands shake as he gets dressed, pulling on whatever is closest at hand. Just as he is about to leave the room, he senses Hux shifting in the bed behind him, and he hurries to his side, leaning down and putting his hands on Hux, at forehead and shoulder.

“Stay.” Hux’s eyes are very bright. His hand twitches toward Kylo, and he draws in a ragged breath. “Want you to stay. Please.”

Kylo squeezes his eyes shut. It’s all he’s ever wanted to hear from Hux, but now—

“I can’t.” His voice breaks on the syllable. He draws his fingers down Hux’s face, from his temple to his jaw, and paws gently at the hair plastered in dark streaks around his ear. Kylo’s fingers come away damp.“I have to go. You need help. I’ll be back soon.” He kisses Hux’s forehead, tasting the salt of his sweat. “Get some rest.”

Fog clings to the ground and treetops after yesterday’s rain and a fine mist hangs in the air. Kylo knows the market will be open, the weather as good as it ever gets in this part of Noureen.

Kylo pushes the speeder past its safe operating limits on the way to the market. It’s another thing Hux never would have done—and of course it’s stupid, because if the engine burns out on the way there—Kylo doesn’t think about it. He won’t let it happen. He tears through the countryside, skidding over dirt and shearing the grass on the hilltops. He takes the speeder to the edge of the market and dares anyone try to steal it; he’s full of his old fury, the kind that shattered rock and steel and scorched planets. When he feels like this he can’t believe the Force is truly gone from him. His blood is singing, and his footsteps boom like thunder as he descends on Madame Selly’s stall.

He crashes to a halt, chest heaving like a wounded bull as his eyes dart around the stall.

“Oh good, you’re finally here!”

Kylo whips his head around. His hair has gone unwashed these past days caring for Hux, and the lank strands cling to his mist-damp face.

Madame Selly emerges suddenly from behind the counter. She shuffles past Kylo with rapid mincing steps, and Kylo blinks after her. She has a heavy bundle around one shoulder, which she shrugs off and dangles towards him before suddenly dropping it. Kylo has to dart forward to catch it before it hits the ground.

“Carry Madame Selly’s things, will you young man? These bones are brittle.”

“I—“ Kylo thins his lips and narrows his eyes. “You knew I was coming for you.”

“Yes, yes. I could feel your anger all the way from the edge of town!”

Kylo blinks. Starts forward, falling into stride beside her.

“Such an angry young man. Do not worry, Madame Selly will help your friend.”

“You could feel me.” Kylo shoulders past the crowd, scowling at anyone who comes too close, lowering his voice. “You have the Force.”

“I don’t know what that is.” She dismisses him with a wave of her hand. The crowd parts effortlessly around her; somehow, Kylo finds himself struggling to keep up. “You off-worlders and your slang. No, no, Madame Selly is nothing but a simple healer. Keep up, boy, keep up!”

_You’re lying._ Still, Kylo has no choice but to follow her.

The speeder ride back to the house is odd with Madame Selly clinging to his back. Her thin arms are strong around him, like woody vines wrapped around the trunk of a tree, and the beads of her shawl flap and clack in the wind. When they reach the house Kylo leaps off the speeder, leaving her to climb down herself, and he hears her grumbling as he flings open the door.

“Hux?”

The bedroom door is open. For a terrible moment Kylo thinks Hux isn’t breathing. He looks so small in their big bed—curled up on his side, swamped in thick blankets, unmoving. Kylo goes to him, one knee on the bed as he peels back the blankets and touches Hux’s shoulder. He’s pale as ever, but his complexion is more grey than pink, and his hair looks colorlessly dark with sweat. His lips are parted as a thin, ghostly breath slips past them.

“Hux,” Kylo breathes. The sudden urge to call him something else wells up inside him—but Kylo doesn’t know what. Hux has never allowed any endearments and anyway, words like _baby_ or _sweetheart_ or _darling_ don’t fit him, he’s too—something, too much for words like that.

But Kylo—feels. So much. Looking at him. Petting the back of his head. Coaxing him to open his eyes. Kylo’s own sting with tears he won’t let himself shed. Hux would laugh at them. (That would make it worth it.)

Hux cracks open an eye, sees that it’s Kylo looming over him, and closes it again, turning his head weakly into the mattress.

The front door bangs shut and Madame Selly comes clattering into the bedroom, grumbling good-naturedly about the manners of young men. When she lays eyes on Hux, she looks delighted.

“You’ve caught yourself a little fox!” She cackles, clapping her hands. Kylo has no idea what to do with that, so he ignores her to focus on Hux.

Kylo helps Hux sit up, stomach sinking as he feels how listless Hux is, his head rolling loosely on his shoulders, arms limp at his sides. He thinks Hux must be barely conscious—but when Madame Selly steps closer to the bed, Kylo feels him tensing up.

She reaches out to lay her hand on him. Her fingers brush his jaw, and he jerks his head up—lips pulling back in an animal snarl, teeth clicking around empty air.

Madame Selly yelps and snatches her hand back.

“Your little fox bites!”

Despite everything, Kylo feels the insane urge to laugh.

_Damn right he does._

Kylo cups Hux’s chin, and Hux’s expression relaxes, his head sinking into Kylo’s grip.

“She’s here to help you,” he murmurs. “Okay? Hux?”

After a long moment Hux nods once, exhaustion outweighing suspicion. His eyelids flicker; all at once his eyes roll back and he sags against Kylo, head falling back and exposing the flushed skin of his throat.

“Hux! Hux!”

Kylo shakes him.

“Ehhhh! Cut that out!” Madame Selly swats Kylo’s hands several times in rapid succession and he blinks, letting go of Hux and backing away. Right. Stupid. His stomach has sunk to somewhere around his feet and he swallows, watching the old woman lay her bundle on the bed beside Hux, rifling through it for a moment before laying her hand on his temple.

Madame Selly clucks her tongue.

“His fever is very high,” she says, and Kylo snarls, baring his teeth.

“No shit!”

Madame Selly gives him a level look, raising one eyebrow. She takes her hands off of Hux and looks at Kylo calmly. Waiting.

He feels himself freezing, mouth working around syllables stuck in his throat.

“Wait, I—“ He presses his lips together, suppressing a growl low in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he grinds out. “Don’t stop. Help him. _Please._ ”

Madame Selly waits another beat, then with a sigh and an affectionate pat on Kylo’s arm, turns back to Hux, grumbling less good-naturedly about the manners of young men.

In the end, whatever she does works so quickly that Kylo almost misses it. She covers her hands in a fine powder from her bag, rubbing the bright blue substance deep into her palms. It stains her fingernails and the places on Hux’s skin where it clings to sweat. She touches her fingertips to his temples and Hux jerks, opening his mouth wide in a sudden inhalation. Kylo gets the eerie feeling that it’s not a natural breath—that something inside of Hux is sucking in air for itself.

A second later, it resolves. The feeling fizzles out into nothingness, leaving behind only the goosebumps on Kylo’s arms. Hux groans and sits up shakily, cradling his head in his hands. His breathing is even and unhindered.

Kylo knows his mouth is hanging open.

“There you go!” Madame Selly smiles widely as she pats Hux’s cheek, sending up a cloud of blue. He jerks back, looking at her with wide eyes beneath a fall of sweat-grimed hair. “All better, little fox! Now, no more farming in the rain, yes? Or this one will never leave Madame Selly in peace!” She laughs as she gestures at Kylo.

It breaks the spell. Kylo rushes forward, hands grasping at Hux, hard and desperate.

“You’re okay?” He angles his head to catch Hux’s gaze. “Are you? Okay?”

Hux clears his throat.

“I think so.” His voice is still hoarse, but stronger than it has been in days. He tries drawing himself up, combing back his hair with trembling fingers before giving up and sagging back against the headboard. His skin feels normal to the touch—no longer burning under Kylo’s hands like a small star.

Kylo nods. For a moment he feels nothing—numb from days of torturing worry that flees too quickly, leaving him empty. Then he turns and sweeps Madame Selly up into a crushing embrace. Relief floods him, so strong it makes him lightheaded and giddy. She squawks and beats at his back until he sets her back down on her feet.

“I don’t know how to thank you.” Kylo will give her anything. Anything she wants that is in his power to acquire for her. He’ll grovel at her feet, he’ll work in her stall at the market without pay for the rest of his life—but before he can offer anything that Hux would surely object to, she fixes Kylo with a wily look.

“I wouldn’t mind having another apprentice.” She crooks a finger under her chin, looking Kylo up and down approvingly. “It’s been too long. You have the gift, you know.” She pats his chest, and he understands what she means immediately. He shakes his head and mutters,

“A curse, more like. And I don’t ‘have it’ anymore.”

“Hmmm. Are you sure about that?” There’s a wink hidden somewhere in her voice.

“Yes,” he growls. Talk of the Force treads on his elation at Hux’s recovery. Madame Selly shrugs.

“Well, if you won’t be my apprentice, then you can thank me with a cup of tea.” She turns and abruptly shuffles out of the bedroom. “That will be good, I think.”

“Here you are.” Hux hands Madame Selly a cup, and she accepts it with a warm smile.

“Thank you, Valya dear.”

Valya, apparently, is the word for ‘little fox’ in the old language of Noureen. Hux was incensed the first time she called him that, but after a month of regular visits from the old woman he’s come to grudgingly accept the nickname. Kylo shakes his head, smiling as he watches Hux take a seat in the chair beside the old woman. They raise their tea cups to their lips in accidental unison. One of them starts to speak in a quiet murmur, both looking out of the window and sitting with their feet up, heads unconsciously tipped towards each other in comfortable familiarity.

Kylo’s life has been filled with endings, but this, finally, is a beginning.

By now Kylo has come to suspect that Madame Selly is unnaturally old. She still tries to convince him now and again to let her teach him what she knows; Kylo still declines, but he’s been thinking about it more seriously in the past few weeks. He can feel it moving in him sometimes—the Force. Like a great creature poised just beneath the surface of the water, though when Kylo tries to grasp it, it slips away. Madame Selly is convinced that he can harness it for her healing arts. Kylo is curious to try.

Kylo leaves the two of them, goes out to the yard to spread feed for the clucking fowl they’ve recently acquired. They come bounding out of the coop Hux had built for them. The sun begins to set over the distant hills, and their beaks cast sharp triangular shadows on the earth. When Kylo goes back into the house he opens the door quietly and pauses in the doorway, listening to Hux and Selly chat. Hux has always liked to gossip over tea, whether in their little old house on the hilltop or the cold mess hall of a Star Destroyer.

Kylo thinks it’s funny that in the end, the things that had brought them together—the Star Destroyers, the weapons and the troops, the planets kneeling at the feet of their great machine—hadn’t been essential components in their equation after all. The two of them had lost more than most can ever imagine having in the first place, but they still have everything they need right here. Just them, together, and this: tea, earth, sun, wind, and grass.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's it! Sorry for the hasty bow tied on this, I bit off way more than I could chew but still wanted to post it on time. :3
> 
> In my mind Kylo eventually accepts Madame Selly's offer to apprentice under her, and regains some of his Force powers but can only use them for healing for the rest of his life. He and Hux become prominent members of the community and live out their days improving the lives of everyone in their little corner of the galaxy, and are just so in love. <3


End file.
